


a darkness upon you that's flooded in light

by whoever_i_am



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Is A Hot Mess, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Not Beta Read, Steve Rogers is an Angel, Teacher Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoever_i_am/pseuds/whoever_i_am
Summary: Bucky needs help. Steve might just be a stranger sitting next to him on the plane, but he sees that. Cute, depressing, and artistic experiences ensue.





	1. the silence in between what i thought and what i said

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is my first work with more than two chapters (I have the next few planned out already), and I'm really excited to get started on it! Pretty please, leave comments with any of your thoughts/constructive criticism/sacrificial ritual instructions, whatever. 
> 
> The title is from the song Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise by the Avett Brothers, and if you haven't listened to it you definitely should!! I'm a pretty musical person so I'll probably occasionally post songs/artists that inspired this fic or fit into it somehow! Also, if you have questions, fic requests (I'll take prompts!!), music recs, or just wanna chat about how much you love Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes (who doesn't?), come talk to me on tumblr! I'm @snowcalling :)
> 
> Also also, I will update the tags as this fic goes along, but be warned that Bucky does have severe depression in this fic and it will therefore eventually deal with some pretty dark subject material. I promise I'll use the relevant trigger warnings when it does happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title is from No Light, No Light since Bucky's listening to Florence and the Machine during the flight; I'm a total music nerd, so I have super in-depth reasons for why I choose each song and each lyric for each chapter, and I don't think I need to write that out or anything since idk, maybe it's pretty obvious. but if my thinking/reasoning behind that would be interesting for y'all, let me know in the comments and I'll start posting that at the end of the chapter notes!! :)

He shouldn’t say something…He feels like he should say something.

But he shouldn't. It’s completely not his place. 

He’s going to.

He shouldn’t.

…Okay, he can’t help it anymore.

“Hey, are you alright?” Steve asks the guy next to him. The really, really attractive guy next to him, actually, now that he notices. Wait. No. Not the point. “Sorry, I, uh, wouldn’t normally ask, but…” He gestures inarticulately at the man, who can’t seem to stop aggressively jiggling his leg and wears an expression of poorly-masked anxiety.

The man jerks his head up to look at Steve as if he was woken from a reverie; he tries to make eye contact but his eyes keep darting around the cabin. “Oh, fuck, sorry, sorry if this is like, bothering you, I-”

“No!” Steve exclaims. “No, no don’t worry about it at all, I’m not bothered, I’m just…” He trails off, then ventures a guess: “First time flying?”

The anxiety doesn’t leave his eyes but he gives Steve a small, self-deprecating smile. “Anxiety’s that obvious, huh?” Steve gestures awkwardly, not knowing how to respond without further offending him. “No, I’ve flown before, I’m, uh. Just not the biggest fan of heights.” It’s not a lie, necessarily. Bucky  _ does _ have reason to be scared of heights. Just because that’s not why he’s anxious right now doesn’t make it a lie.

A less observant man might have missed the tiny twitch from the man’s left arm when he says the word heights. Steve doesn’t. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, trying to offer some comfort or solidarity. “I remember the first time I flew I was definitely-well, not anxious I guess but. In awe, definitely. It’s a weird feeling” Steve wracks his brain, trying to figure out the right words to say to help the guy calm down. At a loss, he settles for: “Uh, I’m Steve! By the way. In case you were wondering. Steve Rogers.” He offers a hand to the guy before realizing that sitting next to each other in cramped economy airline seats maybe isn’t the best position for a handshake. Christ, could he be any more awkward?

This at least elicits a slightly larger smile from the man. “I’m Bucky. Barnes.” 

Bucky. It suits him. “So, Bucky, what’s bringing you to New York?” He gives him what he hopes is a suave smile but is probably an endearingly awkward grin at best. 

“Is this the part where you try to distract the crazy guy so he doesn’t freak out on the plane?” Bucky asks, eyes still darting around nervously but somewhat slower now that he’s partially letting himself be engaged in conversation with Steve. Steve’s eyes widen at the thought that he’s offended Bucky, but before he can answer he’s cut off again: “I’m kidding. Sort of. No, seriously don’t worry. I appreciate it. And I’m just going home…back to Brooklyn.” Back to his depressing shithole of an apartment, he thinks privately. Back to holing up in his bedroom between shifts, back to occasional, brief phone check-ins with Natasha since she’s basically the only one who bothers to try and get him to communicate anymore. He lies half the time. Says he’s fine, he’s doing better, he’s out and about, or whatever. She knows he’s lying. She keeps calling back anyway. He doesn’t deserve it, and part of him wishes she’d just stop trying. But on good days, he’s grateful that somehow she still loves him enough to keep caring.

Steve, meanwhile, latches on to the tidbit Bucky has given him. “Brooklyn, huh?” His eyes light up. “Me too!” (Jesus, Bucky thinks to himself, this guy’s like a golden retriever or something…God help him, it’s really endearing.) “I was just in San Francisco for a conference, and I won’t lie it was a little exhausting ,so I’m definitely ready to be home.” 

_ Ding _ . “Ladies and gentlemen,” comes the captain’s muffled voice over the plane speaker system. “the seatbelt sign is now on. Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure your tray tables are stowed and your seats are in the upright position. Flight crew, prepare for takeoff.” Bucky groans and shuffles down in his seat, clenching his fists. His seatbelt has been buckled since the safety demonstration- which, by the way, frankly hurt more than it helped. Everyone knows you’re supposed to buckle your seatbelts and put your tray table up; the rest of it is just nightmare fuel! He’s not, like, totally fucked up, he’s not scared of flying, he’s not that much of a coward. It just doesn’t help, when his anxiety is already this bad. He can tell Steve’s noticing his discomfort and must be wondering what the fuck is wrong with him; this guy is insanely observant. Just Bucky’s luck.

Steve  _ does _ notice Bucky’s discomfort, and he knows it’s somewhat irrational since he met the guy about five minutes ago, but pretty much his only thought at the moment is how he can help Bucky. “Here,” he finally says, and reaches across Bucky to the window. Bucky flinches and for a second wonders if Steve’s going to punch him. This leaves him feeling like the absolute biggest asshole in the world when all Steve does is lower the window shade and then return all his limbs politely back to the boundaries of his middle seat. Not an easily achieved feat, Bucky muses, since the guy has to be at least 6 feet tall and is built like a freakin’ statue. “Sorry!” Steve quickly apologizes, “I just figured, if you can’t see the heights, maybe it’ll be less of an issue?” It’s palpable, how much this guy really wants to help him. It makes Bucky feel like even more of a failure. “Thanks.” He mumbles. God, he’s a fucking mess. 

“So, I was in San Francisco for a teaching convention.” Steve states, carefully, not looking directly at Bucky. “An art teacher convention, actually. Or, well, the National Art Education Association Convention, if you want to get really technical about it. It sounds boring, I know, but when you think about it it’s really just a bunch of creative people stuck together in a giant hotel, so at least some interesting things are bound to happen, right? Anyway, so, the third night, it’s around 8:30, and I’m already in bed when I hear just the most outrageously loud music going past my room…” 

And with that, Steve launches into an incredibly animated tale that involves a boombox, sneaking into a pool after hours, and an easel ending up somewhere it  _ definitely _ should not have been…Bucky thinks. Truth be told he’s only about half paying attention. The rest of him is still stuck on the negative spiral he’s been in since yesterday. Almost unbreakably so. But Steve, there, talking to him, helps, gradually, and somehow by the time they’re at their cruising altitude Bucky is almost entirely grounded again. The negative thoughts are still there, obviously, they’re never gonna fucking leave, but they’ve taken a backseat at least. It’s manageable. 

Steve has stopped talking, so Bucky guesses that’s his cue. “Hey–uh–thank you. For…that.” He says lamely. “Do you find yourself having to…do that often?” He gestures at himself, meaning his state of mental disarray. Fuck, he didn’t say that right, what he meant was ‘Gee, Steve Rogers, how did you get so good at distracting psychos? Practice often?’ Yeah. That probably wouldn’t have come across well.

Steve seems to get it, though. (Steve seems to get everything. Bucky is definitely startled at how quickly he’s getting his guard down.) He smiles modestly at Bucky; “Nah, I just work with kids, like I said, so I know sometimes the best way to help someone out of their panic zone is a little distraction. I’m glad it worked! At least a little, I mean.”

This time Bucky smiles back. This guy, whoever he is, is the nicest person he’s met in a while. Suddenly a six hour flight doesn’t feel as awful. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re welcome, Bucky.” Steve responds, looking him right in the eye. For the first time, he’s noticing how intense Bucky’s eyes are. When they’re not frantically looking around, there’s actually a really beautiful  _ serenity _ to them. And they are a gorgeous blue. Steve nearly blushes thinking about using the word gorgeous to describe a guy he’s just met, but, really, there’s no other way to put it. Nothing like the sky, or the ocean, or whatever overused metaphors people use with blue eyes. Even his inner monologue is left at a loss for words. He’s genuinely amazed, mesmerized, and right in the middle of imagining exactly what combination of paint he’d have to use to get Bucky’s icy blue eye color just right–

“Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” The polished flight attendant smiles thinly at him in front of her cart.

“Uh, no, I’m-I’m alright.” Steve says, as if pulled out of a dream. “Bucky?” he asks. Bucky shakes his head. Just because Steve turned out to be the nicest plane seat neighbor in the world doesn’t mean he’s not still reluctant to talk to anyone he doesn’t have to. He’d rather stay thirsty for a bit than risk saying the wrong thing, looking like more of a fucking idiot. Nonplussed, and without bothering to wake the woman seated next to Steve, the flight attendant moves on to the next row; but the moment is broken. 

Bucky decides the best course of action at this point is to just stop talking to Steve for a bit. He’s nice, but Bucky doesn’t want to wear out his patience or generosity. He pulls out his earbuds, gives Steve a little smile, and promptly loses himself in the sound of Florence and the Machine. (Judge him all you want. It’s  _ Florence _ .) He sits there and just listens, keeping his eyes forward. He is trying very, very hard not to keep looking at Steve. He is very deliberately  _ not _ looking at Steve’s jawline, or his well-fitting sweater, or his biceps–nope, no, Bucky is not going there. Nope. And he is definitely not looking back into Steve’s eyes that had been looking at him, just a moment ago, with so much unwavering kindness. Bucky would have had to break away if they hadn’t been uninterrupted. He can’t stand being looked at like that by someone who doesn’t even know him. Someone as genuinely pure as Steve “just let me calmly talk you off the ledge even though I don’t know you” Rogers, who doesn’t know why he doesn’t deserve kindness. 

Steve privately wishes they could’ve continued (or honestly, developed) their conversation, but he understands and respects Bucky’s need to be alone. He’s anxious enough, he doesn’t need the hassle of Steve becoming a nosy airline seatmate. Sneaking a few surreptitious glances at Bucky, he reclines his seat (just a bit, so as not to disturb the kid sitting behind him) and resigns himself to finding the least shitty airline movie to watch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Leave kudos/a comment if you want :) next chapter will be up pretty soon, I swear!!


	2. something else when i see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok so technically this isn't "soon" but at least i'm updating! sort of a short chapter but i'm gonna try to work on this fic again :)
> 
> chapter title from "it will come back" by hozier

When Bucky wakes up, it takes a second for him to realize he’d even fallen asleep. A brief moment of returning panic sets in until he remembers he’s in a plane, it’s fine, everything’s fine. He mentally curses himself for being so easily spooked. Get your shit together. 

“You good there, Bucky?”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Bucky says. “Uh. Bad dream,” he covers sheepishly. God, this is so fucked up! He’s probably still just on edge from the weekend. Suddenly, he notices: there’s a bag of chips on his tray table that wasn’t there before. He looks at Steve-

“Oh, yeah,” Steve rubs the back of his neck and meets Bucky’s eye, “well, the flight attendant came back around, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, but I didn’t know if you would be hungry when you woke up, so-”

Bucky wonders why on earth Steve sounds like he’s apologizing to him. “Thank you, man, really. That’s really thoughtful, how much do I owe you?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. It was nothing.” Bucky is about to protest, but Steve notices and adds, “I’m serious. Don’t worry about it.”

Sensing he probably won’t get anywhere with this, Bucky relents. He can tell Steve is the kind of guy who doesn’t often lose arguments. Changing the subject, he asks, “So…do you know how much longer we have?” He winces right after he says it, hoping it doesn’t sound like he’s waiting to get away from Steve. 

“About half an hour,” says Steve, pointing to the screen. “You were out for a while.”

That means he’d been out for about five hours; Christ. He must have gotten less sleep last night than he thought. Whatever. As soon as he got back home he’d be back to wasting his life just sleeping and binge eating. It’s not like he's good for anything else.

“So what were you doing in San Francisco? If you don’t mind me asking.” Steve asks. He doesn’t want to push Bucky, but he’s oddly drawn to the stranger and he’s curious. 

Bucky is oddly caught. He can’t tell why; of course he can’t tell Steve the truth. He can’t just blurt out to an almost-stranger that he’s on his way back from attending his birth mom’s funeral, which of course is why he’s so fucked up right now, he’s not just some lame-ass who’s scared of flying. Or that it was one of the worst weekend of his life, since his sister was also there and she’d (well-meaningly) tried to corner him into talking so he’d freaked out and hid in the bathroom for a literal hour. Yeah, no, that’s not stranger material. And yet he still feels like lying to Steve wouldn’t be right. He settles on a half-truth, mumbling out something about “family business” and “it’s complicated.”

Steve nods his head knowingly. “Yeah, family can be tough. I get it. We lost my ma a while back when I was a teenager, and my dad passed a couple years ago, so it’s really just me now…wow, I am so sorry, that’s sort of dark for small talk, I guess.” He ducks his head sheepishly but also flashes Bucky a small, apologetic grin. Bucky’s quickly becoming fond of (used to?) Steve’s smile. He’s also just left awestruck by how utterly open Steve is with him. “What happened?” He finds himself asking before he knows he’s going to. “If you don’t mind.” He mirrors Steve’s words from just a moment ago.

“It was pneumonia, with my mom.” Steve shifts so not just his head but his whole body is almost facing Bucky. He’s not hiding anything. “Preventable, normally, but I was pretty sick as a kid, so we’d already spent all our savings on medical bills. We couldn’t…sorry, I swear I don’t normally do this.” Steve trails off and Bucky realizes it’s because he’s getting choked up. He knows he should do something. He tentatively places his hand on Steve’s arm, nowhere that could be perceived (he hopes) as too intimate or inappropriate. He just wants to do something to repay Steve for the first thirty minutes of their flight. 

It hits him like the surface tension of water breaking when he notices it’s his left hand he’s comforting Steve with. Suddenly it feels more real; he can feel the warmth of Steve’s blood and muscle beneath his palm. He tightens his grip just the tiniest bit, and Steve gazes at him, reassuring him that he’s there. Solid. They settle into comfortable silence, neither one of them truly moving. Bucky is both confounded and scared that this is the least blank he’s felt in…months, at least. Steve is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. The stale airplane air feels more breathable in the tiny space they’ve created between them. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put your tray table up for landing.” 

Steve wants to punch the flight attendant in her perfectly made-up face. 

For a split second he thinks he might, until Bucky moves his hand to close his tray table and Steve is brought straight back to earth. He blinks confusedly for a moment, wondering where the surge of anger came from. 

Bucky wants to take it upon himself to break the tension, but he can’t stomach the thought of upsetting Steve right now so the best course of action is again, to just remain silent. 

No. Fuck it. 

“Would you–do you want my number?” Bucky stammers. His remaining breath is steamrolled out of him as soon as he asks. He braces for the impact of Steve’s rejection.

But Steve Rogers is incapable of disappointing him so far. His responding smile rivals the sun. “Yeah, that would be great.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to Bucky, who types quickly with shaking hands. Both of them are a little nervous, waiting for the other shoe to drop and scared to be the person who makes it fall. 

But it doesn’t come. The remainder of the flight passes quickly. Bucky makes small talk with more ease now that some of the tension between them has been alleviated. The fear of scaring Steve off abates a bit with his knowledge that Steve has his number and if he really does want to talk to Bucky, he will. It’s in his hands. Sure, getting off the airplane is the usual nightmare, especially since Steve is chivalrous almost to the point of annoyance and lets no fewer than five old ladies go in front of them before Bucky finally “accidentally” pushes him into the aisle. But even the wait in line for the baggage claim and the taxis is brightened. Steve swears to himself he will never be able to forget the image of Bucky, as he slides into the back of a taxi, giving him a genuinely happy smile. Bucky doesn’t think he could forget it either. 

Bucky goes straight home and calls Natasha as he shuts the apartment door and tosses his keys on the kitchen counter. She’s taken aback to say the least. Bucky never calls first. And he definitely, definitely never sounds this alive. 

“Nat, you’re not gonna fuckin believe what happened to me on the plane today.”


End file.
